


Easy Living

by ronsparkyspeirs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Porn, Depression, Disabled Character, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6804889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsparkyspeirs/pseuds/ronsparkyspeirs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She meets him in some dingy bar in Hell’s Kitchen, the place reeks of old booze and the air is filled with smoke; but one thing's for sure, he's beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy Living

**Author's Note:**

> a BIG inspiration for this story came from the 1961 movie "The Hustler," with Paul Newman, do yourself a favor and watch it when you can.
> 
> EDIT: I know I said I was going to make this a multi-chapter fic and I did write two more chapters but honestly they read very forced and over dramatic, there's some aspects I enjoy but for the most part the story was just beginning to read like a teen angst abc family movie. Sorry to everyone who was expecting more, but I do think that this can totally stand alone as a one-shot.

She meets him in some dingy bar in Hell’s Kitchen, the place reeks of old booze and the air is filled with smoke; but one thing's for sure, he's beautiful. 

 

His jaw, or what she can see of it beneath a week's worth of scruff is cut like a precious diamond, hard lines and angles make up his face, a straight nose that she almost envies, slightly long hair pulled back into a bun and a set of lips that seem incongruous with his entire demeanor. He walks in and she can see the way he wears his desperation, a shroud of loneliness surrounds him and the only reason why she recognizes it is because she wears hers the same way. 

 

Darcy is almost half expecting him to go sit with the leggy blonde in a corner booth, but he doesn't, instead he straddles the seat next to hers. His thighs are thick and his arms bulge as he sets them on the bar countertop, she almost rolls her eyes at herself because it's been months since  _ anyone  _ made her lady parts tingle. Darcy signals the bartender for another round and Mr. Scruff turns to look at her, she ignores his stare until Mike brings her another whiskey and coke, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she tells him, with her eyes still looking straight ahead at all the shiny liquor bottles. 

 

“Don't have a camera,” he responds. 

 

And Darcy snorts a laugh, she finally turns to look at him and he's even prettier close up, blue eyes so light they're almost gray, and dark eyelashes that contrast very nicely with his skin. “So, what's a place like you doing in a boy like this?” 

 

He gives her a tiny smile, but it's enough to get his eyes crinkling at the corners and Darcy can actually imagine herself falling for this stranger, he shrugs and answers with a question, “You always drink this early?” 

 

“You always this rude?” she counters back, blatantly ignoring the fact that yes, it's ten o'clock on a Wednesday morning, but she doesn't need some stranger reminding her, no matter how hot he is. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and Darcy believes him because he actually manages to sound sincere. He motions for Mike and orders a straight vodka. 

 

Darcy decides to go easy on the guy and gives him a response, “I go to college, Tuesdays and Thursdays.” 

 

“You don't look like a college student,” he tells her and that is just plain wrong because she couldn't look like more of a college student if she tried. Ripped jeans, scuffed and dirty sneakers, and an oversized sweater that has definitely seen better days, she looks like the epitome of a broke student, combined with the dark circles under her eyes and the pale tint to her lips, Darcy's sure she paints a pretty sad picture. 

 

But she doesn't say any of that to handsome stranger, she simply raises an eyebrow and waits for him to elaborate. 

 

“I mean, you don't seem young enough.” 

 

“I'm not,” she tells him. Darcy never got to finish her political science degree and now she attends a community college in Manhattan because it's cheap and Darcy's always been good at learning but she doesn't want to remember the stars and gods and her useless science credits. 

 

The only good thing that came out of her little adventures with Jane were the monthly stipend that SHIELD somehow manages to deposit into her bank account, all for keeping her mouth shut about New Mexico and London. It's enough to keep a roof over her head and food in her mouth, and if she saves, sometimes it's enough for her to go to school, so she does. 

 

“Why are  _ you  _ here?” she asks. 

 

“It's my day off,” he responds, and there's something very sad about the way he says it. He must be alone, just like her, because Darcy knows that if there were anyone left to give a shit about her she would certainly spend her free time with them. He sips at his vodka and his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and Darcy's just drunk enough to start making bad decisions. 

 

“Do you wanna go someplace quiet?” she asks him softly, and chooses to ignore the fact that at ten in the morning the bar is pretty dead with the exception of hard core alcoholics and depressed twenty-somethings. 

 

He nods, takes out his wallet and pays for their drinks as Darcy slides off her stool. Her fluffy gray sweater hangs off one shoulder but Darcy doesn't bother to fix it, she also doesn't turn to look at his face when she begins walking; she walks with a slight limp now and doesn't care to see disgust in his expression or worse, pity. 

 

She makes her way outside and hears him follow, he's silent on the walk back to her apartment, a shadow looming behind her. They reach her building and walk up four flights of stairs; Darcy shoulders her way inside the shabby living quarters, one room with a tiny kitchen near the entrance and a bathroom with a shower set just to the side. Her bed is the only luxury in the place, big and comfy, with a set of egyptian cotton white sheets, she’d decided that it would be the thing to splurge her money on. The mattress is under a set of windows that face the outside, the only good thing about her place is the fact that she can sit on her bed and watch the city below. 

 

She walks to the kitchen and takes a bottle of vodka out of the fridge and he crowds her against the countertop as she reaches for two coffee mugs on a shelf. “My name's James,” he murmurs against the skin of her neck as he mouths at her pulse and Darcy almost drops a mug. 

 

“Darcy,” she whispers back, and she turns around, facing him, he nips his way to her jaw, presses a kiss to her cheek and then his lips are on hers. Darcy moans when his tongue slides inside her mouth, James digs a hand in her thick hair, placed at the base of her neck, the other on her jaw so he can move her face anyway he wants as he kisses her . He presses his groin against her pelvis and Darcy wants him, in that instant she wants him so bad, she feels she'll go mad without him. 

 

She pushes him away and grabs his left hand, intent on pulling him to her bed but he hesitates, she gives him a reassuring squeeze and James stiffens, he looks at anything but her and Darcy is so turned on that it takes her a second to realize the hard give of his hand, it must be a prosthetic and she hadn't even noticed the black glove he’s wearing. Darcy steps up to him and with her other hand she tilts his head so he’s looking her in the eyes, “Hey,” she tells him in a soft coo, “it's okay, we’re just a couple of cripples, right?” she says, and hopes to God he doesn't take offense. 

 

“Okay,” he responds, just as quietly. Darcy flashes him a grin and continues tugging him to her bed. James must take her brief assurance as ‘green means go’ because all of a sudden he pushes her on top of the sheets and she flops gracelessly but doesn't have time to do much of anything before he’s on her. He’s all lips and hands and she groans as he settles between her thighs, James isn't much of a talker but that's alright, his heated gaze is more than enough. 

 

He unbuttons her jeans and pulls down her zipper, sticking his flesh hand inside her panties with no preamble, his fingers are thick and Darcy shudders as he spreads her open with his middle and index finger. He sticks a digit in her, all the way to the knuckle and Darcy bites her lip in pleasure, “Please,” she whispers, “please, don't make me wait.” 

 

James is nothing if not efficient because he gives her a hard kiss before yanking on her jeans, he pulls off only one of her sneakers before his hand is on her again, he works her with two fingers till Darcy's back is arching off the bed. Little incoherent noises escaping her mouth as he makes her come, he pushes up her sweater and pulls down the cups of her bra, her nipples pebbling in the cool air. James takes one in his mouth and spreads her thighs open with his free hands, Darcy hears him unzipping and the distinct sound of a condom being unwrapped as he licks at her nipples and kisses the fleshy mounds. 

 

He doesn't give her warning before he’s pressing his cock inside her, Darcy almost screams as he pushes inside, the thick head of his penis breaching her; she can feel every inch, she's hot and so full of him. James lets out a low hiss when he's seated to the hilt, he looks down at her as he braces himself on his forearms resting beside her head, “Fuck me,” she tells him, her voice gone throaty and even lower than usual. 

 

James doesn't have to be told twice because then he's thrusting hard, powerful strokes that have her inching up the bed with each push. Darcy moans and tries to hang on for dear life, her arms going around his wide shoulders, “Yes, yes, yes,” she grunts between a litany of curses. James grabs her by the hips and tilts her slightly up so her thighs rest against his own and Darcy thinks she might see God for a split second. He's thrusting just as hard but now she has an anchor point, and she can feel  _ everything _ , his strength, his guttural grunts against the skin of her throat, the way his hands clench on her fleshy hips. She’s never been fucked like this, like she’s all that matters in that instant. 

 

Darcy begins seeing stars and she's literally on the verge of passing out when one of his hands snakes down to where they meet, his gloved hand this time, he presses against her clit as he gives her a particularly hard thrust and Darcy falls apart. She's wrecked and she knows it, she hears her next door neighbor pounding angrily on the wall as she moans her release. James’ breath speeds up and Darcy is just so grateful that she's already laying down, she uses her pelvic muscles to give him a squeeze and then James goes still, she thinks he might even stop breathing for a second or two. 

 

After he regains his five senses he moves from on top of her, flipping over so he lays beside her on his back. Darcy's still having tiny little aftershocks and it's only then that she notices how they're both mostly dressed, well her only, James seems to have just pushed his pants down far enough so he could take his cock out. Out of the corner of her eye she watches as he pulls the condom off, tying a knot at the top, “There's a waste basket next to the bed,” she tells him, signaling towards his side of the mattress. 

 

He sits up and tosses the spent condom in the trash and tucks himself back in his jeans, Darcy takes that as her cue to do the same and sits up halfway on the bed and pulls down her sweater and finishes kicking off her jeans and pulls on her underwear back up her legs. Forty five minutes ago this seemed like a really good idea but now as she sits on her bed, with the wetness seeping through the thin material of her underwear, Darcy's not so sure anymore. The cold, harsh light of day is sobering in a way that she hates, she looks at James only to find him looking back at her. “You're beautiful,” he tells her, his voice raspy. 

 

Darcy looks away, tears filling her eyes and he’s going to think she's _ such a fucking psycho _ . But it's been so long since anyone's told her that, even longer that she's believed him, because James might be a lot of things but he doesn't strike her as a liar. “Thank you,” she responds, stupid tears making her voice sound all funny. 

 

“I’d like to see you again, sometime,” he says. 

 

“Why?” 

 

For the life of her she can't seem to know why he wants to do that, there's nothing about her that screams DATING MATERIAL, but this dude apparently has seen something that yells out ‘date me,’ even though she just fucked him after literally fifteen minutes of knowing him and Darcy’s not sure but she doesn’t think that getting drunk before noon on a weeknight translates to ‘take her home to meet the parents.’ 

 

He shrugs and it only draws attention to his biceps and Darcy can’t believe she’s already ogling him, he  _ just  _ finished fucking her, not two minutes ago.

 

“Just feel like it,” he responds.

 

“Will you let me look at your hand?” Darcy blurts out, she feels her cheeks getting hot with embarrassment as his eyes widen in shock and if her leering wasn't rude then this definitely was. 

 

“I'm sorry,” she mumbles. 

 

“‘S okay,” he murmurs right back and starts pulling his glove off. It's damn good technology from what she can see, silver and shining, he pushes the sleeve up his arm and Darcy cannot believe she didn't notice it before. 

 

“It goes all the way up,” he says. 

 

“Accident?” 

 

He shakes his head, “The war.” 

 

Ah, that explains a lot. And isn't that tragic? That so many men and women her age were so damaged by a stupid thing like war. 

 

“I was in an accident,” she tells him, pointing to her right leg, pointing to the large scar that runs down her thigh, which he must have noticed at some point but was too polite to mention. He nods and Darcy feels a little bad for lying but she can't exactly tell him a dark elf from outer space cut her with a scythe and injured her sciatic nerve. 

 

“I’ve got to get going,” he says.

 

“Oh! sure, yeah that’s-- good,” she finishes lamely, but James gives her one of those smiles like he did back at the bar, no teeth but his eyes shining with mirth. He pulls out an old flip phone from his pocket, Darcy hasn’t seen one of those since she was in middle school but James presses a couple of buttons and hands it to her, “Put your number in there,” he tells her, and Darcy gives him her cell number. He gives her a call and her own phone vibrates on the little bed side table she left it on, “I’ll call you,” James says, and Darcy doesn’t bother to tell him that texting is better because she’s not sure that neolithic phone in his hand  _ can  _ even text. So she nods instead and walks him to her door as he stands from her bed, a strand of his hair has escaped his bun and Darcy is so fascinated by the way it frames his face that she doesn’t notice as he starts leaning in until his lips are pressed against her cheek. 

 

“I’ll see you around, Darcy.” 

  
“Yeah, I’ll see you around, James.” 


End file.
